


tell me when you hear my silence

by meremennen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (fake) fake dating, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, POV Bellamy Blake, Pining, bellarke stupidly in love but oblivious (duh), childish behaviour because of pining, instagram posts, lots of pining, so fake that Clarke doesn’t even know about it, texts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 09:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meremennen/pseuds/meremennen
Summary: “Hey, dude,” Miller nudges him in the sides with an elbow. “Isn’t that your girl with Roan King over there?”His eyes are glancing across the barpult, finding Clarke, who is indeed animatedly chatting with star quarterback, Roan, ‘The King’, but doesn’t think much of it. He knows - because Clarke told him so - that they are something akin to friends.He has nothing to worry about.***A bellarke modern au, in which Roan is putting the moves on Clarke, and Bellamy doesn’t handle it too well.





	tell me when you hear my silence

**Author's Note:**

> A bellarke modern au, in which Roan is putting the moves on Clarke, and Bellamy doesn’t handle it too well. When anyone asks about his glaring stares and flaring nostrils, he grunts, “No coffee this morning,” and calls it a day.
> 
> He is not jealous, no. Not. At. All.
> 
> Until he spots Clarke in Roan’s football jersey, his arms thrown casually around her shoulders, all smiles and mischievous eyes as he leans closer into her and whispers something in her ears. But then Roan grins wider and doesn’t pull away, and Clarke doesn’t push him away either like she used to. She giggles. She goddamn giggles and bites her lip.
> 
> Fuck.
> 
> ***
> 
>  
> 
> Special shout out to Charlotte, who was a great encouragement through this all, thank you!

“Hey, dude,” Miller nudges him in the sides with an elbow. “Isn’t that _your girl_ with Roan King over there?”

 

His eyes are glancing across the barpult, finding Clarke too easily, who is indeed animatedly chatting with star quarterback, Roan, ‘The King’, but he doesn’t think much of it. He knows - because Clarke told him so - that she and Roan are loose friends. They grew up in the vicinity of each other, practically neighbours until she was sixteen and then Roan moved away to pursue his career in sports and yeah, they are something akin to friends. (If going to and occasionally bumping into each other at endless rich people parties in her early teenage years can be considered friendship at all.)

 

He doesn’t think much of it.

 

Bellamy has known Clarke since he was twenty-two and Octavia was seventeen when he thought she was a pain-in-the-ass slash stuck-up know-it-all. Given the first time they met was at the beginning of Octavia’s (and respectively Clarke’s) last year in high school, with Clarke practically staring him down, and ready to strike like a cobra. He shrugged it off, it was his sister’s last year of high school; if he was lucky, their acquaintance was nothing more than just that: a one-time standoff.

 

He remembers the day so clearly as if it has happened yesterday: She was wearing her hair in a single side braid, mismatched tiny stud earrings in her ear. Standing in front of him in a crisp white shirt tucked under a dark plaid skirt hardly covering her knees and in complimenting white stockings; the determined set of her eyes pinning him to a spot - trying to educate him on proper behaviour.

 

“ _This is none of your concerns, Princess!_ ” he snapped, the sudden movement unlocking a curl from its place, which was flipping rebelliously against his eyebrows. His hand was in motion in a heartbeat, reaching down, fishing for the comb tucked into the sides of his pants; and he was lifting his shirt _just enough_ \- very pointedly showing some skin as he did so.

 

He used to wear his hair combed back at the time; his go-to hairstyle in his post-teenage years, sleek with hair gel; and it was her sharp tongue and piercing, stormy blue eyes and heaving chest that made him lose his calm at the heat of the argument.

 

But what was much _much_ worse than that stupid curl going rogue that she remained completely unaffected _by him_ \- even inching a step closer, her chin held high in defiance.

 

_What a petite arrogant princessss…_

 

SHE made him huff in annoyance.

 

Yes, he might have flashed a strip of skin on purpose; sue him for expecting the widening of eyes or a gulp, or something, anything, as the bare minimum - the usual reaction; but there she was, small and young and looking so proper and innocent yet defiant, and wasn’t even batting an eye.

 

 _Huh_.

 

The first thing he’d had to learn about Clarke Griffin: Looks were deceiving. This princess was not so easy to intimidate, let alone throw off. At. All.

 

*

 

The Blakes lived their whole lives, or as long as he can remember, in the outskirts of Arkadia.  
  
Clarke was a transfer student in her senior year, having moved from across the country when her father died and her esteemed surgeon mother got a new job at the local hospital.  
  
At first, he’d thought, they’d be one of those people who had a catastrophic first meeting and it had tainted every other interaction that followed and inevitably their relationship forever.

 

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

 

Octavia and Clarke got closer as the weeks, then months had passed, and Clarke made an appearance at the Blake house after classes on a regular basis and more frequently. Honestly, she was a great help with Octavia when he thought he couldn’t handle his little sister’s outbursts in a mature and appropriate manner. But there was Clarke, like a godsend, and she made things easier for him. Surprisingly, she helped to keep his temper in check. She made things better.

 

He’d gradually (and exponentially) grown fond of her too.

 

Graduation came and went by, Octavia and Clarke have grown apart; and, eventually, he and Octavia have grown apart following the fallout with her second boyfriend; but. He still has Clarke.

 

And he’d be lying to say he doesn’t think of Clarke an embarrassing amount five years later, at twenty-seven, and let’s not sugarcoat it - more than just a friend. God knows, he’s already planned their wedding in his head one too many times, or how he would propose even, if only he had a good masterplan flashed out already on operation ‘How to woo Clarke Griffin‘.

 

So yeah, seeing Clarke with the star quarterback, Roan King; or Roan, ‘The King’ after years of silence is a teensy bit unsettling, to be completely honest; especially watching her throw her arms with joy around him, and enveloping his huge muscle-y form in a crushing hug. But, Clarke pulls away just as quickly and Bellamy sags with relief.

 

Clarke has always talked about Roan as that rich kid who “saved” her and vice versa from utter boredom - at events, they’d both had to attend out of loyalty to their respective families.

 

He is not jealous. He has no reason to be.

 

He is completely fine with Clarke having a conversation with other people. They are best friends at this point, he is protective as a friend, but he doesn’t own her.

 

“Yeah, that’s him.” He throws a couple of peanuts into his mouth for emphasis, in lieu of a shrug.

 

That wasn’t exactly the question but Bellamy is smarter than that - to give anything to Miller to blabber about and around behind his back. Oh yeah, Nathan Miller may seem innocent as a newborn lamb in his pressed black shirt, black pants and dark beanie, but everyone knows in town: Nathan Miller is the main source of the local gossip mill. Well, him and Jasper Jordan.

 

Miller simply hums in response but doesn’t add anything.

 

Not this time anyway.

 

*

 

Somehow Roan sticks around after that.

 

At first, it’s only once in every six weeks or so when he joins their ragtag group of friends for a freshly pressed carrot and ginger juice on Fridays. (He drinks the juice because of his strict diet or whatnot). It also provides Bellamy with an excellent opportunity to get to know him better, when Roan is not in a circle of his female fans, that is, or he is too late to grab a seat close to Clarke.

 

Roan is still an active player in the league and has no intentions to leave for years to come. Objectively speaking the guy has matured a lot (compared to the Roan King in Clarke’s stories) and is filling his clothes at the right places very impressively - compared to pictures “from before” he remembers seeing on the news and in magazines. He doesn’t have to compare himself, per se, he is not playing sports for a living, but Bellamy is proud of the muscle mass he has put on over the years, thanks to his rigorous schedule at the gym. He doesn’t consider himself vain or anything. The gym was something he needed to release all that pent up energy when his Mom died and then Octavia entered her rebellious phase which was a constant strain on his nerves. The gym was the place where he met Miller, and they became friends easily and without an effort after regularly running into each other at the boxing sack or exercising next to one another on the treadmill for months.

 

Eventually, Clarke has also joined him on occasion, and maybe he was a little bit more attentive to her on those special nights than to his trusted gym partner slash friend of years, Nathan Miller. He suspects, probably that’s how Miller has caught onto his feelings and uses any and every opportunity to try (and succeed in) teasing him. His teasing very often manifests in dead silence, or worse, a series of hums, wordless yet expressive, ever since.

 

If someone asks Bellamy what he thinks about Roan King in their friend group, he can honestly say he thinks Roan is an okay guy. Fun, and loyal. Just the right amount of asshole; and just like he misjudged Clarke, he misjudged him too by the looks. Yes, Roan is cocky and famous and rich but there is more to the guy than the name and any of the superficial qualities, and even if they are not friends by definition, he thinks, under the right circumstances, they could be.

 

(Even when he sits way too close to Clarke and makes her giggle more than Bellamy would prefer. Clarke is her own person, she doesn’t need his approval or protection. Yet, he cannot help and pay a little closer attention whenever she is concerned.)

 

*

 

He doesn’t even know how or when it happens, but suddenly Roan is everywhere.

 

It stars in small doses.

 

*

 

 **iceking** posted a picture and tagged **wildlittlebirrrd** , **cgriff** , **missmcintyre** , **foxface** , **monroenotmerilyn**

 

Liked by **mrBeanie** and **299 others**

 

The caption reads: _she is beauty and she is grace_

 

The picture features Roan, in the circle of his very notably very female friends. Raven on his left and Clarke on his right, each one of his hands finding purchase on their waists.

 

_View all 248 comments_

 

 **Roan_King_Fanclub_NZ** lookin’ good

 **princessamalia** 😻

 **wildlittlebirrrd** flirt

 **the.groupie.called.ontario** Obsessed with you 👑

 **TrashPanda** id kill 4u

 **GroundersSource** Please, will you marry me? 😩

   **slayer** @ _GroundersSource_ He’s out of your league, hon

   **chachacha** @ _slayer_ @ _GroundersSource_ DJDKDLDLD

 **mrBeanie** Um, @bellblake

 **_james_t_kirk_** I want to be you

  


. . .

 

*

 

The phone buzzing on silent wakes him.

 

“It’s 5 am.” His voice is raspy from sleep.

 

“I know.” Clarke sounds ... not sleepy or alarmed, as he half-expected, rather small with a desperate edge to her tone through the phone. “I had a bad dream.”

 

He sits up in bed, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and reaches for his glasses on the nightstand.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Her breathing is ragged, and it takes a few minutes before she audibly calms down and sucks in a calming breath.

 

“Umm. I don’t know if I -  “ if he didn’t know better, he’d think she is embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You were my first thought to call. It’s nothing. I guess, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

 

And then, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

 

“Don’t be. Clarke - you can call me anytime.”

 

It’s hard to fall back asleep after that, even if that practically means just a couple of hours. He tosses and turns and dreams about Clarke slipping away.

 

*

 

A few days later he is running an errand for his boss at the courthouse and spots Roan and Clarke on the street.

 

Roan has a hand on the small of her back, what it seems like guiding her through the door to a store. Clarke is taking a deliberate step to the side, leaving Roan’s hand hanging empty and grabbing for air before he drops his arm.

 

He sighs in relief as a weight lifts off his chest, and he feels instantly lighter.

 

*

 

As the weeks progress, it gets worse. Roan is literally everywhere.

 

At the gym.

 

At Friday nights.

 

On the phone.

 

At Clarke’s.

 

Online.

 

Bellamy doesn’t want to put a name to it; Clarke is his good friend, the best, it’s just natural that he feels somewhat off balance when her attention - that was mostly dedicated to him - is now divided.

 

He doesn’t think it shows, or, he didn’t until Miller asks something and Bellamy replies something and it is followed by a long silence.  
  
“Hmmm. I see.”

 

He squints at Miller out of the corner of his eyes, and he sees him jutting something down in his pocket-sized notebook, but it’s folded closed and gone by the time he really registers what he was doing, and it’s too late to ask.

 

*

 

**Clarke 8:58 p.m.**

 

_I’m sorry I bailed on you. R2 basically kidnapped me_

 

 _Please don’t be mad. Please please pleeease_ 🐙🦄🐶

 

_I’ll make it up to you_

 

_Pizza on Saturday? My treat_

 

*

 

 **iceking** posted a video

 

[VIDEO: Roan King at football practice, alternating between doing push-ups, running laps, stretching his legs and throwing the ball to his equally well built and popular teammate, Lincoln Woods. In the background, journalists are sitting on the closest bench to the field. The background image is out of focus but you can spot Clarke, Raven and Harper.]

 

_not quite a war dance, but we are true warriors_

 

Liked by **LWoods** and **1773 others**

 

_View all 483 comments_

 

 **TrashPanda** MY KING

 **GroundersSource** follow me, pretty please

   **slayer** @ _GroundersSource_ get a life

 **chachacha** @ _slayer_ you savage 😂

 **mrBeanie** yo, @ _bellblake_

 **sniperiley** @ _iceking_ @ _LWoods_ you’re a great positive example of hard work! ☺️

 **TomFeltonFan** 💛❤️💙💜💚

 **the.groupie.called.ontario** meu marido

 

. . .

 

*

 

He waits an hour to text her back.

 

**me 10:00 p.m.**

 

_Don’t worry about it, Clarke._

 

_Prosciutto with extra cheese. Jumbo size. Thank you_

 

And then, because he is a hopeless romantic and she really did look nice in her pink hoodie and haphazard bun, _Saw the video. You looked nice._

 

**Clarke 10:02 p.m.**

 

_You’re my favourite, Bell_

 

His heart might have skipped a beat. He should talk to her, shouldn’t he?

 

*

 

“So, I don’t know, but I think you should really decorate your offices a little. It’s spring, Bell. It is spring! Don’t you feel it in the air?”

 

Does he feel it? Yes, he always feels buzzed and elevated, almost out of this world when she is with him. And not only in spring.

 

She is an extra dose of joyful today and it’s catching.

 

Honestly, he doesn’t need more convincing. He gives her a full smile in response, she is practically beaming at him when she meets his eyes.

 

“Okay. Okay, I’m in. But I have to run it through Mrs Kane first.”

 

“Oh,” she purses her lips in faux disappointment.

 

Clarke works as a junior creative designer at an advertising startup. She likes to contribute to others’ lives (read: her friends) in a way she knows the best and enjoys the most. Bellamy is a layman when it comes to art and design but you don’t need a diploma in creative design to see that she is good. Very good. Not taking up on her offer would be an insult to her talents, and stupid on his side. However. He works at Legal Aid and a neat office, clear of distractions is their go-to office setup. Even though it would be nice once in a while to bring in some colour, something energizing and funk to the otherwise rigid and cold walls.

 

Her pout is soon replaced by a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, reading his mind so easily. “Mrs Kane loves you, Bell, and you know I’m happy to help. Always. You can tell her that. I have so many ideas already!”

 

He is tempted to reach out and run the tips of his fingers down her cheeks (and more than anything push the hair out of her eyes) when she gets like this; over bursting with catching, joyous energy, just to stop time and slow her down. And drink her in.

 

And he almost, _almost_ reaches up; it’s harder and harder not to give in to those instincts lately.

 

_Everybody loves you, Clarke. The current company included -_

 

“Blake, scoot over.”

 

Bellamy is in mid-thought, when Roan appears, practically out of nowhere with his freshly pressed carrot and whatever juice in hand. He’s learned he likes to switch it up.

 

“Did we know you’d be here?” Bellamy asks, lifting an eyebrow.

 

Roan smirks, and motions with his chin to move! and since he doesn’t want to be an asshole - nevermind the empty chair right there, at the head of the table - Bellamy was raised with good manners, he scoots to make place on the bench.

 

“I’m on break for a few weeks.”

 

Roan sits down and lifts the glass in salute and drinks.

 

“It’s a true miracle you didn’t turn orange yet from the amount of carrots you’re inhaling,” Bellamy murmurs. “Imagine how your pictures would look like.”

 

Roan smirks wider, “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

 

Sure.

 

“Hey, Griff. Want a sip?”

 

Clarke shakes her head, but asks anyway: “What is it this time?”

 

“Carrot and mango. With a pinch of cayenne pepper for a kick.”

 

Clarke loves mango. Once she got into a fight over the last piece of mango at the grocery store late Friday night. He had to practically drag her out of there and promise her a bag of mangoes at her doorstep (and his speciality pancakes as a condolence price) bright and early the next morning. So Bellamy is well aware of how much she LOVES anything mango and cannot miss the intrigue making an appearance in her eyes. But before she can say or do anything, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward and reaches for the glass.

 

“I’ll try!”

 

Roan’s surprise quickly turns into a smile first, then a smirk; and then his smirk develops into a full, toothy grin, the one he usually flashes for the cameras and grins back at you from the magazines. Bellamy almost chokes on the big gulp he was taking in rush, only barely managing to cover it with a cough.

 

“It’s good.”

 

He licks his lips, once. Twice. And as he slides the glass back over to an amused Roan, he misses Clarke watching him, and he also misses when she’s shaking her head imperceptibly, before dropping her gaze from his lips and focusing on the soda in her hands instead.

 

*

 

When asked about it, Bellamy plays it off as nothing. It’s nothing. It is. In truth, he doesn’t know how to feel about it, let alone handle _the_ situation with Roan being all over the place. No matter how innocent Roan’s actions may seem; standing too close, grinning too much, offering drinks and what’s worse: a hand on the small of her back; a hand here, or there, but always only inches away from where Clarke is laying her hands on the table. So yeah, Roan rubs on him and rubs on him the wrong way. Too friendly, too close, too present, too much.  
  
“What’s with the face?” Raven asks, having returned with a round of drinks.

 

He grunts.

 

“No coffee this morning.”

 

Raven clicks her tongue, and motions for Roan to make her space. He wonders if the ever-present smirk on Roan’s face is getting wider, if that’s possible, or if it is real at all, or something conjured up purely by his imagination.

 

Having the pleasure of getting more acquainted with Roan in the past months, he reads him better, but it could be both.

 

 _Humming_ , Miller is sitting next to him, stoic and unmoving but observant as ever.

 

*

 

Bellamy is exhausted. Vera asked him to stay longer than he normally does after hours - all in favour to form a solid argument and a rock solid strategy on the case they picked up earlier in the week. The case involves a girl, Reese Lemkin and her father, Tor Lemkin against the state. It’s not like they actually want to go to court, they’d like to settle before it comes to that.

 

So he stayed late and quite frankly he feels heavy and useless like a rock, can’t wait to hit the bed and sleep till noon the next day.

 

But it’s Friday.

 

And Fridays are just one of those nights when the gang get together - Unity Days as Jasper refers to it -  and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

 

So what? He is a little worn, clothes rumpled and hair sticking to every possible direction from running his hands through it endlessly. It’s like - sometimes he feels like this particular habit gives him power, like a battery getting recharged by the repetitive motion, which is totally non-scientific, yet totally true in his case. It’s a comforting habit which makes him think.

 

So his hair is all mussed, his contacts started to hurt like a bitch and he switched for glasses an hour ago. He didn’t have time to drop by home and change his work attire for jeans and a soft cotton henley, but he removed his tie and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows. It will have to do for casual.

 

When he arrives, Roan spots him first, his regular carrot juice in hand.

 

He is visibly sizing him up and down, then up and down again, and to be on brand, his ever-present smirk plastered and blooming on his face as he does his assessment.

 

Roan taps Clarke’s elbow with his free hand. Because of course, he is in a 10 feet radius of Clarke. Again.  

 

Clarke is pretty today. With her hair down, cascading in golden waves around her shoulders, dressed in a plain white t-shirt with Brainy Smurf and Hefty Smurf on its front. (She bought this t-shirt online in winter sales last year, with a diabolic smile thrown in his direction. She hit on the PayPal button, obnoxious and joking; It was a must, she said, the Smurfs together reminded her of him.)

 

For what it’s worth, her smile widens upon seeing him, and maybe he is too tired and his vision is playing him after looking at papers with heavy legal text for hours, but he swears her eyes are looking him up and down before settling on his arms, and finally, on him.

 

And if it weren’t already past 10:30 at night, and she wasn’t a few drinks in, then he’d think the pinkness of her cheeks is all because of him and for him.

 

He swallows, as he approaches and she meets him halfway.

 

“Having fun yet, Princess?”

 

“Hey, Bell. Long day at the office?”

 

He nods, and at the same time, she reaches for his hand and tags him along, closer to everyone. “Come on, I can definitely use another drink.”

 

“You deserve more than one.”

 

“This is my third. But - “ she looks up at him, poking the tip of her tongue through her lips and flashing him a dopey smile, “ - not to worry. I’m a big girl. I can easily handle a few more. With you.”

 

 _Ta-dum. Ta-dum. Ta-dum._ His heart is a treacherous little thing, practically living its own life: reacting to her words on an instant.

 

He blows out a breath, slow.

 

“And I won’t say no today.” His voice is surprisingly even, even to his own ears. Despite being all nerves and fighting this ever-present internal battle with himself to just give in, grab her, and kiss her pronto. ”It’s Unity Days.”

 

Her smile widens, and they are changing directions, setting on a route towards the bar. They are in line for what feels like a very long time and only then does he realize she has never let go of his hand.

 

He is not one to ruin the moment, and he for sure won’t be the one to pull away.

 

*

 

Two drinks in, or well, it’s two more drinks in for Clarke, and they end up playing Truth or Dare. Technically, it’s only Truth.

 

“What did you think of me when we first met?”

 

He laughs out loud because really, they’ve known each other for so long, and not in so many years did this ever come up. He is too inebriated at this point to stop the groan that escapes him, as he rubs his face.

 

“Do you want the honest answer or the nice answer?”

 

She pouts, smacking his chest playfully with the back of a hand. “Play nice, Bell.”

 

“I - “ he starts, ducking his head. “I thought you were a tiny tank.” He starts with an easy admission. It’s safe, beyond being true. “A know-it-all. In plaid skirts. And I - “ he exhales, taking his time as he considers how much he should let her in on his persona from before the Clarke days. The alcohol made him loose and he feels very free of control, even exposed; if he is not careful enough... His tongue might fight battles almost every day at work, and often when he is with her but right now, he doesn’t feel very in control of it. “I - I was ... you know how I was. I thought I could judge everyone by one look back then, but I was clearly mistaken when it came to you.”

 

She bites on her lip before she opens her mouth, preparing to say something - he feels like she is ready to confess something sacred and kept hidden for all these years long. Instead, she beams, stands on her tiptoes and plants a small kiss on his cheek.

 

She smells so good. His skin tingles where she touched him and he has to stop himself to brush his fingers against the spot.

 

“What was the kiss for?” he whispers.

 

She shrugs and inspects her now empty glass with a frown before peeking up at him and clutching her glass visibly tighter. “I’m glad to be your friend.”

 

She clears her throat. A beat, then: “I believe it’s your turn now, isn’t it? Truth or Dare?”

 

*

 

“Hey, what’s with the ‘tude?”

 

Bellamy might be a little grumpy today. It’s the lack of sleep, he reasons. The Lemkin case is entering a stage where he has to put in more hours than he expected and it _is_ wearing him down. He doesn’t want to admit out loud not to jinx it but he has a good feeling they can settle the case outside of court. And that should make him feel content, shouldn't it? Successful, even.

 

Yes. His moodiness is _mostly_ due to the lack of sleep.

 

However.

 

It doesn’t help that Roan and Clarke are sitting across the bar and his eyes zero in on them like a stupid magnet.

 

He grunts.

 

“Yeah, we know. Coffee. Dude, for the argument’s sake -“ Miller watches him closely, before stopping himself mid-sentence in favour of rising to his feet and returning with a flat white and a bottle of chilled water a little while later.

 

“Here. You clearly need this.”

 

Bellamy blinks in surprise. It’s not an everyday occurrence that Nathan Miller wordlessly offers something so considerate. So he nods in thanks and drinks the coffee in silence.

 

And when Miller says, “don’t get used to it, though,” teasing, Bellamy snorts in response.

 

“I am smarter than that. I won’t.”

 

After that, he is zoned out for a little.

 

Miller idly mentions his boyfriend of twelve months, Bryan, and how he is ready to take the next step and move in together with him. Considering how his previous relationship ended with Eric last year - already living together, practically engaged, before it turned sour - this is big. But his friend has been always an optimist and brave in ways he isn’t.

 

The chitchat and the drinks help him relax and get his mind off of things. Off of work and Reese Lemkin getting blind thanks to the malfunction of the machine that was supposed to help her. Off of how tired he feels to the bones, desperately waiting for the weekend and sleeping in just an hour more. Off of Octavia not returning his numerous calls for weeks. And in the midst of this, regardless of his personal troubles, he can’t help his traitorous eyes roaming and finding the two figures at the barpult, even when Clarke is mostly covered by Roan’s bulky form. Not when her golden hair is swishing and shining like a beacon.

 

Do they even know he - no, _they_ are here? Probably, they don’t. But then, there is a crash, followed by a splash; and honestly, it happens so fast they don’t see what exactly happens, only that Clarke’s frilly dress shirt is soaking wet. Roan hands her napkins and a tote bag, and she leaves - he supposes - for the bathroom.

 

*

 

“Blake. Miller. Fancy seeing you here, “ Roan sidles up to them whilst Clarke is away.

 

“Roan,” Bellamy nods in greeting. “I didn’t know you were here.”

 

Miller audibly snorts. Surprisingly, Roan doesn’t jump on the innuendo, he looks rather distracted, as he finishes his drink still in his hand and absentmindedly talks about the new season.

 

That is until Clarke returns.

 

“Oh, hey Bell. Hey, Nathan. Didn’t see you guys were in here.” She sounds winded, but she is happy to see them (and him), that much is evident in her voice. She blushes a darker pink and drops her head. (The animalistic side of him wants to believe it’s all for him). His mood instantly lifts, mirroring hers.

 

Clarke steps to the side, and whilst Roan was covering most of her form before, now they can see that she is changed out of her soaked shirt into one of Roan’s football jerseys, with a big number twelve on the front. And even though he cannot actually see it on display, but the rest of the bar can (and that’s enough), is what he knows is **KING** in block letters on the back. And the thought alone makes him nauseated.

 

But the torture doesn’t end here, because Roan slings an arm around her shoulders, all smiles and mischievous eyes, pulling her closer, whispering something in her ears and his shit eating grin is back in full force on his stupid face.

 

What’s even worse that Roan doesn’t pull away, and Clarke doesn’t push him away either like she used to. She giggles. She goddamn giggles and bites her lip.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

His stomach drops.

 

“Green is not your colour, bro,” Miller mumbles under his nose, only audible for him.

 

And the afternoon goes by like that. Clarke and Roan join them. The four of them, sitting at the table, talking about Roan’s new season, Miller’s new job in catering, Clarke’s upcoming, big gala - an event she put together from A to Z for potential donors - and Bellamy’s more than ideal workload.

 

All things aside it’s a nice afternoon. He is with friends. But his traitorous heart can’t stop kicking harder every time he glances at Clarke, or when she playfully nudges an elbow to his sides, or places a hand next to his and doesn’t move it away.

 

And then his stomach plummets when Roan is throwing a wink her way or brushes a hand against hers, or when Bellamy remembers what kind of jersey she is wearing right as they speak. (It should be his.)

 

He swears Roan’s eyes shine in understanding, because he winks at him, and other times his smirk is just a notch cockier when he catches him watching them when he is not playing on his phone or paying closer attention to them.

 

His phone buzzes with a message on WhatsApp.

 

Bellamy freezes.

 

He half expected it to be a message from Roan but, thankfully, it’s from Miller.

 

The message reads:

 

_BRO. Do. Something. I don’t think I can handle YOUR moodiness AND Roan smirking like this for much longer. Dude could play the Joker on Gotham_

 

His face feels warmer and he exists the app quickly, before Clarke or anyone else can ask about it.

 

Leave it to Miller and his thoughtful, world-class advice at the most opportune times to leave him flustered.

 

He should. Do. Something. He. Knows. That. He just .... still hasn’t figured out _how_.

 

*

 

**Clarke 5:17 p.m.**

 

_Question_

 

_Little black dress. Sleeveless or strapless?_

 

**_Tell me about the contestants_ **

 

Leave it to Clarke to ask for his advice last minute. The gala for the donors is hardly three hours away.

 

**Clarke 5:20 p.m.**

 

😛

 

_I’m a hot mess, Bell. A disaster!_

 

 _I like disasters_ , he thinks defiantly. Hot? Yes. A mess? Bellamy’s lips twitch. She is. And he is gladly involved in her mess.

 

**Clarke 5:22 p.m.**

 

_Um. It would be really the easiest with a picture_

 

..

…

..

.

 

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times.

 

…

 

A very specific image has just popped into his mind, and he cannot shake it off. He smiles to himself and unlike any other time, he decides not to wait for her message to come through.

 

**_Strapless_ **

 

...

.

…

 

_It was an impulse buy actually. Raven and I went shopping about a month ago and we found this great shop and... okay, I spare you the boring details. I didn’t have yet a chance to wear either of them_

 

**_Strapless_ **

 

**Clarke 5:25 p.m.**

 

_Thx! You’re the best_

 

When she says things like that Bellamy feels like his stomach erupts into chaos.

 

**_Anytime, Princess_ **

 

💙💙💙

 

*

 

 **iceking** posted a picture

 

[IMAGE: Roan King in a tuxedo]

 

_Getting ready for a night out_

 

Liked by **sniperiley** and **3599 others**

 

_View all 444 comments_

 

 **MensHealth** Dashing as ever. What is the occasion?

   **iceking** @ _MensHealth_ Celebrating the amazing and talented @ _cgriff_

 **princessamalia** @ _iceking_ @ _MensHealth_ Are you two dating????

 **TrashPanda** 😘❤️😍🔥🔥🔥

 **GroundersSource** Ahhhhh, wish I had a handsome prince 😍 like you!

   **slayer** @ _GroundersSource_ Keep dreaming

 **mrBeanie** @bellblake

 

. . .

 

*

 

The party is a blast.

 

He had zero doubts, to begin with, but being here in person and having experienced first hand yet again what an amazing creative designer slash party planner slash human being Clarke is - it makes his heart expand a little. If he didn’t know he was _in love_ with her, he’d definitely know now.

 

She was a true professional and a perfect host through and through. She greeted the donors and made her rounds, chatting up to them - just the right amount so that none of them would feel left out or more special than the others. (Which includes some press time with Roan King, star quarterback making a not so unexpected appearance, given it is widely known to the world that Roan and Clarke are friends.)

 

And the dress.

 

_Oh, God. That. Dress._

 

He felt the air leave him in a rush, along with all conscious thought he had when he saw her. In. The. Dress. It’s nothing too revealing, no. Nonetheless, it hugs her curves perfectly. Fits _her_ perfectly.

 

Roan melted into the crowd pretty easily. Despite of whatever this irrational jealousy Bellamy is feeling when Roan tries him (which is quite often, mind you, he is not an idiot; logically he knows Roan is pushing him on purpose), but he is gotta give it to him; he did an excellent job of keeping the conversation on the event and dodging the too personal questions. The star of the event is Clarke.

 

His stomach was in knots when he arrived but now that the party is winding down closer to midnight, and the press has left, it is much easier.

 

His boss, Vera Kane bid her goodbyes just an hour ago.

 

(“Bellamy, tell Clarke it was a wonderful event. And thank her again for the invitation on my behalf and pass on my warmest regards, will you?” “Of course Mrs Kane, I know Clarke is delighted that you could make it.” Before she left, she parted with a knowing smile as she said, “She is a real catch.” )

 

Vera’s words make him feel lighter. Well, it’s not a big secret his boss is a fan of Clarke. But every time she speaks so fondly of her, his heart swells in pride. He is lucky to have people like her in his life.

 

*

 

Seeking a temporary refuge from the heat and lingering crowd inside, he found that one of the rooms near the coat room leads to a hidden balcony facing the gardens. Roan and Raven have long disappeared from sight, and instead of standing as a sore thumb by himself at the wall, sipping on his drink in silence, he much rather does the same outside where he can actually hear his own thoughts.  

 

*

 

He’s been on the terrace for what it feels like ten minutes when he senses someone approaching.

 

Judging by the soft clacking of high heels and her very careful approach not to spook him, he is sure it is none other than the host of the event. His best friend. His Clarke.

 

He turns, leaning against the railing.

 

“I feel like I know you, have we met before?”

 

“Ha ha,” Clarke approaches with a soft smile and a tumbler of her own in her hand. If he has to guess, it’s filled with her favourite single malt scotch, neat. “I’ve been looking for you.”

 

He pushes himself away from the railing, moving in her direction.

 

“You know, that sounded an awful lot like a pickup line.”

 

She chuckles lightly and takes a careful step forward.

 

“Look who’s talking - your - “ she clears her throat and deepens her voice, giving it a raspy edge” - ‘ _have we met before_ ’ sounded like a cheesy pickup line too.

 

He nods in agreement. And what happens next is out of his control, because he doesn’t think, not consciously when he blurts, “Okay, then. _Next time_ , I promise I will do better.”

 

Time stops. She sways on her feet, parting her lips -

 

“Next time?”

 

A beat. Then another one. He’s trying to win himself some time by chuckling nervously as if his words meant nothing more but a tease; but he knows better and quite frankly, he doesn’t want her to mistake his words for a joke. Not now and not anymore. He ducks his head, taking a long calming breath, preparing himself - this is his chance.

 

“I mean - please tell me you are not dating Roan because this will get really awkward really soon if you do. Or want to...”

 

_Click - Clack._

 

Her heels are clicking quick and sound against the hard stone surface, and she is there, inches away from him when he hears her exhale as she stops short in an unmistakably intimate distance from him.

 

“How long do you have to know someone before you do the right thing?“

 

He gulps. “Depends. Why?”

 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years. Bell, I didn’t know how to tell you and what to do. I dropped hints, a lot, but you didn’t notice and ... “ she exhales, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I didn’t want it to get weird in case I misread things.... we’ve been friends for so long - as long as I can remember - and .... please say something -“

 

“Would you stay still for a minute.” It’s good he left the tumbler on the edge of the railing, he’d feel rather annoyed with himself for breaking this moment by bending down or shattering the glass as means of discarding of it. With both of his hands thankfully free he can do exactly as he wants so he grips her biceps first, soft, and then he ducks down and kisses her.

 

The kiss is short, he doesn’t deepen it. He plans on kissing her more.

 

“Clarke... _Princess_ ,” he croaks, so much, he has to give himself a minute to get a grip on himself. “I’ve been in love with you since I was twenty-four.” The truth of it surprises him, but it _is_ true. Even when he was dating someone else, deep down he knew why his relationships ended - with him being fully committed to someone else and all that. (It wasn’t fair to him, and to others, but he’d been trying.)

 

He cradles her face, and softly, brushes his lips against her hairline.

 

He feels her grip his hand, squeezing it.

 

“Would you stay still for a minute,” she repeats the words back to him and grabs onto his suit jacket by the lapels, pulling him into her open mouth and kisses him back; kissing him with fervour.

 

*

 

Before they get to the doorway, he stops her and kisses her jaw lightly, now that he can freely, nose brushing her neck first, gently pulling her earlobe between his teeth.

 

Goosebumps are erupting on her skin, she is gasping a breathy “oh”.

 

She tugs on his hair in retaliation and he groans, running his hands up her sides and making her shiver.

 

He doesn’t know how long they play and tease each other like that and he truly hates to break it off. But, someone has to be the responsible one here, given they are still in public and it is still Clarke’s big night, with anyone possibly walking in on them any passing minute.

 

“Not complaining, but what was the kiss for?” she grins, and Bellamy is smiling back, his lips still tingling.

 

“Wasted too much time already. Just catching up.”

 

He grips her hand and ushers her through the door, pulling her with him.

 

The promise of later fueling both of them.

 

“Well, Mr Blake. How do you want to do this? Are we going to tell them?”

 

He groans. “Miller is going to be insufferable. But for better or worse, he can stop with all that humming. He was driving me crazy.”

 

“And here I thought you would say getting Roan off of your back is the best that comes out of this.”

 

“Clarke. No. Not true. The best thing about you and I is whatever the hell we want. It is being able to kiss you whenever and wherever. And do things like this,” he says as he pulls her to his side, and brushing his nose against hers.

 

“You’re cute. And a softie. Who knew. The Bellamy Blake, who tried to intimidate - or fluster?  What was it? - a teenage girl by showing off some of his objectively speaking toned skin on the day they met. I need answers, Bell.”

 

He huffs out a laugh. She got him there.

 

“You’re cute.” He leans in close, lowering his voice so that people around wouldn’t hear. “And I like this.” He gestures to her fitted dress. “It looks very nice.”

 

And somehow, the compliment still feels like an understatement.

 

“ _Clarke_ ,” he groans. “I don’t know who told you this dress was appropriate. Don’t get me wrong. It is nice. In fact, very nice. But you in this dress? Is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

“The sexiest?”

 

 _Mmmhhhmmm_. He hums in agreement.

 

She pretends to be deep in thought, lifting two fingers to her chin and pulling her bottom lip under her teeth.

 

“Hmmmmm. I think - I think you are right, it probably looks cuter on the hanger... Or, ideally... “she shrugs,” you know, very sexy on the floor.”

 

He sucks in a breath. Not in his wildest dreams did he imagine this tonight. Nor did he imagine falling from being friends (best friends) with her to being two people openly in love and connected and in a relationship so smoothly. It all feels so natural. Like there was an unknown place he was always heading towards to, and he is finally there but nothing feels scary or foreign, but just right and he never wants to go anywhere else.

 

“You think I’m gonna put out that easily, Clarke? We’ve been dating for, what - “ he pointedly lifts the arm where he wears his watch, rolling his wrist to uncover the face of the watch and reads the time,” - say half an hour, and you think I’m that easy to get?”

 

“I’ve been mentally dating you for years. Think about it, Bell. It’s - A LOT.”

 

He catches Roan animatedly chatting to some of the donors but when he sees them, he stops mid-sentence, eyes widening; he barely manages to hide his signature smirk.  

 

Instead, he nods and settles the flat of his palm firmer on the lower back of the brunette next to him (pulling her closer), just as Clarke kisses him behind his ears, and it’s enough to snap his full attention back to her.

 

Where were we? Oh right. Clarke is his girlfriend and she is kissing him. This is not a drill.

 

“Speaking of... “nodding to Roan’s direction.” What are you gonna tell him? I’m not blind, okay? He was putting the moves on you, you know. And he drove me crazy. Is he -“

 

“- what? No. No, he did not.”

 

He puts on this best humour me face. “ _Clarke_. He did.”

 

Whatever she was prepared to say in retort dies in her throat. “ _Ohmygod_. I’m so sorry. I thought ... I thought it was all for a show to get Raven’s attention, but now that you mention it... “

 

She giggles, covering her lips with a hand.

 

“Now that explains _a lot_. I was so stupid.”And then she adds, “You know I love you.”

 

His heart is thumping erratically, or maybe it skips a beat. As if to scream at him in emphasis, _See? You fool_. Clarke seems to be satisfied with his answering grin.

 

No more miscommunication, as far as he is concerned.

 

“I leave it to you, okay? But - I don’t want to hide any of this. _Us_.”

 

“Good. Me neither.”

 

*

 

They leave together, with his suit jacket draped over her shoulders. They are heading back to her place and agreed to spend the night there because all things considered it makes the most sense tonight.

 

He spent a few nights at hers before, although it was completely different. For starters, he didn’t get to kiss her at places as he does now.

 

And second, now, instead of taking the couch in the living room, or the convertible in the guest room - she uses as her office on the days she works from home -, he sheds his slacks, then his dress shirt and trails after her.

 

He learns that she is ticklish, he - not so much.

 

Her dress - THE dress - does end up on the floor, although not in a way Clarke implied it would.

 

He helps her unzip but turns away to give her some privacy and let her change into a more comfortable shirt for sleep.

 

She teases him for being a gentleman.

 

“Tonight, let me have this, Clarke. But, I wanted this, _us_ , for so long... I want to take you out on a date, a _real_ date first. To show you how much I ...”

 

Her lip is caught between her teeth, her brow furrowed as she listens to him intently, before the small crease smooths out and she gets hold of his hands. “I’d like that.”

 

They fall into bed together, tired but laughing, fingertips brushing lightly against skin not covered by their underwear.

 

They don’t have sex that night but he stays in her bed, kissing the back of her neck and curling around her as they slowly drift off to sleep.

 

*

 

In the morning, it is Clarke who wakes him. She is still in bed, facing him, their noses only inches away. “Hey.”

 

She is a little rumpled from the long night, her hair all over the place. The sight of her makes him smile on instinct.

 

“Hey.” His voice is rough from sleep.

 

“Guess what... You’re my boyfriend.”

 

“I remember,“ his smile widens into a grin. “I also remember you saying mentally dating me. For years.”

 

A sigh.

 

“Bellamy Blake. I swear to God if you dare to use that against me -“

 

“I don’t,” he says, cutting her off. “I just meant ... it was nice to hear. I’m glad we are on the same page.”

 

“Oh. Okay. I am glad, too.”

 

“God,” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I’m so glad it’s Saturday.”

 

Clarke pries his arm off his face eventually, using his body as an anchor and drags her body closer to him. “Spend the day with me.”

 

*

 

They have a shower before breakfast.

 

Separately.

 

But when he kisses her, after breakfast, he is barely able to contain a groan when she reaches up on her tiptoes - clearly theatrics - because she needs right that tall cup with little puppies on it from the top shelf for some steamed milk. The long shirt she is wearing rides up high on her thighs, forgoing any remaining pretence of covering the swell of her ass and those tiny panties... He walks up to her, caging her in, his hot breath hitting the side of her neck. She turns, and flicks her eyes to his, gulping under his intense stare. And that’s when he kisses her, and he gives into that kiss everything.

 

When he draws back slightly, he croaks, voice impossibly deep, “I made breakfast.”

 

She chases his mouth with hers, “It’s a date.”

 

Eventually, he pulls away completely and lets himself some time to take her in. She looks just as wrecked as he feels, her face flushed a deeper pink by the second and her lips parted slightly.

 

They don’t leave her apartment for the rest of the day.

 

*

 

“Can we talk about that thing I did with my -“

 

“Hilarious.” She smacks the back of her hand against his chest. “You’re terrible.”

 

“Terrible, huh? You didn’t seem to think so last night when I -“

 

She scoffs.

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Or else?”

 

“Or else, I will show you what I can do with mine!”

 

He stops talking. And she _does_ show him anyway. It’s torture, but the good kind.

 

*

 

It’s next Friday when they meet up with the gang again.

 

Bellamy is over days of negotiations concerning the Lemkin case and it looks like they can agree outside of court, something they were working for.

 

Miller takes a look at him and shakes his head, a small grin forming on his lips.

 

Raven raises an eyebrow at them.

 

Harper smiles. Monty kisses her cheek.

 

Roan pats him on the shoulders and hands him a carrot juice when they arrive, before turning to Clarke and yells ‘Griffin!’ in a sportsman’s cry and proceeds to pick her up into a quick tight hug.

 

Somewhere during the night, he drops a carefully wrapped package on the table, in front of him and Clarke and nods, “That’s for you, Blake. You earned it.” He winks and stands to leave them to it.

 

“What is it?” Clarke pokes a pinkie to the wrapping. “It feels soft.”

 

They tear the paper away and he can hardly believe to his eyes when the gift reveals itself and they unfold the fabric. It’s a football jersey, identical to the one Roan King wears on the field. Well, almost. It’s deep purple with the golden crown logo of the _Grounders_ and the number **84** on its back with **BLAKE** printed above it in big block letters in white.

 

He needs a moment to collect himself as he watches the jersey intently, eyes focusing on the name; hardly believing to his eyes.

 

“Well - I’d say he’s been Team Blake all along.”

 

He blinks. “You think?”

 

She nuzzles her nose into his neck and kisses a spot under his jaw.

 

“I _am_ Team Blake, too. For the record. Biggest fan.”

 

***

 

Clarke surprises him by wearing the jersey, only that and nothing else under it, when he emerges from the bathroom that night, causing him a minor heart attack.

 

“Umm - so, what do you think?”

 

He gulps. He is one lucky bastard, no question.

 

“I think - “ he stutters but doesn’t finish, taking a few long strides to reach her that much sooner. He kisses her sound and deep, rather possessive, tongue and teeth intent and exploring; his hands buried under the jersey as his thumbs finally finding their way _up up up_ on her skin, stroking the underside of her breasts, not too long before finding her nipples.

 

“ _Ohhh_ ,” she shivers and he proceeds with his ministrations, slowly turning her over.

 

“We’re gonna have some fun,” he finishes for her, planting small kisses along her neck.

 

“Lots of fun, I believe -“ and another gasp ripples from her throat.

 

There is no talking after that for a while.

 

***

 

 **iceking** posted a picture and tagged cgriff and bellblake

 

[IMAGE: Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake looking nauseatingly cosy, entirely lost in a conversation. A laughing Bellamy faces the camera, a smiling Clarke watching him lovingly. Nathan Miller mid-snort, lifting a hand with a thumbs up. Roan King embracing Raven Reyes tightly.]

 

_my work here is done_

 

Liked by **mrBeanie** and **2199 others**

 

_View all 269 comments_

 

 **jjoordan** OH. MY. GOD. OH  MY GOD. OHMYGOD. *PTERODACTYL SCREECH* THE ONE TIME I MISS UNITY DAYS AND THIS THIS THIS

 **mrBeanie** @ _bellblake_ 👍

 **GroundersSource** @ _iceking_ is the brunette your girlfriend? ☺️❤️

   **slayer** @ _GroundersSource_ duh, obvies

 **TrashPanda** King 📞 818 977-2500

 **the.groupie.called.ontario** Tell @ _LWoods_ he is HOT and I’m single

 

. . .

  
  
  
**Fin**.  


**Author's Note:**

> One dialogue might have been inspired by a scene in Gilmore Girls because I was binge watching at the time I wrote this. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Receiving kudos and/or comments always brightens my day! xx
> 
> fya - If you'd like, you can reblog [this post](http://meremennen.tumblr.com/post/184184948208/tell-me-when-you-hear-my-silence).


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